


What Doesn't Kill Me

by Numinex919



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numinex919/pseuds/Numinex919
Summary: In which Kylo Ren gets his world turned upside down. Rey gets a new job and becomes the obsession of a stone-cold assassin. Hux almost dies. Things get messy.





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> For those who know (and hopefully love) After Crait, this isn't like that. For one, this is AU Reylo (though I hope I've kept the flavour of Ben/Kylo and Rey's characters as this is the best part IMHO). For number the second, this will be smuttier and more graphic. Third, pieces of dialogue/scenes from TFA and TLJ will crop up. I see Rey/Finn as British so spelling/words will reflect this. Yes, After Crait is continuing.

“That smokin’ hot guy over there?” Rose jerks a thumb towards the end of the bar. “ _He_ has big dick energy.” Her words are a little slurred as she nods emphatically.

Rey throws a quick glance at the object of this startling pronouncement, worried the possessor of said energy might have heard her friend. Rose’s voice is loud, even in the aural chaos of the bar, and she half expects to meet a smug/outraged/disgusted glance.

“Oh. Wow.” Is all she can say.

Thankfully he’s _not_ looking their way, but _man_ , she’s wondering why the whole bar isn’t staring at _him_.

First thing she notices are his hands, nursing what looks like whiskey over ice. They are beautiful, with long sensitive fingers whose blunt, square tips make them appear infinitely capable.

_Of pleasuring a woman . . ._

_Or snapping a man’s neck_ .

A shiver runs over her as she watches him bring the glass to his lush mouth. Proud nose and brow, thick sable hair.

She turns back to Rose who smiles knowingly and mouths ‘big dick energy’ before saying in a still too-loud tone, “This is why you don’t need a little weasel like Hux bossing you around constantly. He has _small_ dick energy. It’s why he’s so aggressive, like a weeny little dog. With a weeny little—”

“Yes, Rose we get your point, hon.” Paige grins good-naturedly at her sister and rolls her eyes. “Rey can’t very well start causing a ruckus in her first week of work at—what’s it called again?”

“Hosnian Solutions”.

“He’s probably just the kind of boss who’s tough on new employees.” Paige shrugs and sips her strawberry margarita.

Rey ignores Rose’s counterargument which still involves the word ‘dick’ and sneaks another glance at BDE guy.

He’s big all right.

Shoulders and arms sculpted and thick through the thin knit of his jumper. The depth between chest and back says there is even more muscle on his body. She snatches another quick peek at his face.

_He is staring straight at her._

The shocking intensity of his gaze is almost physical and her lips part over a silent gasp as they lock stares.

His eyes are velvet dark, full of shadows. A scar runs down the right side of his face. Whatever happened narrowly avoided his eye socket. The mark disappears under the high neck of his clothing.

She wonders how far it goes . . .

Another shiver wracks her and she drops her gaze, even as part of her wants to defy the provocative glint she sees in his, instead of backing down.

You do not meet that sort of challenge from that sort of man.

He epitomizes the word ‘dangerous’.

Not just to girly hearts or womanly sanity. The man is panty-dropping hot, but he looks like a bloody serial killer.

Those few seconds of contact have sucked all the air out of the room. Rey takes a moment to gather her blown mind and incidentally re-oxygenate it.

Then she risks another shot at contact.

The bar is empty. Not empty-empty, even though a fire alarm could probably have gone off and she wouldn’t have noticed, trapped in that stormcloud gaze.

It’s empty of _him_. He’s gone and the way in which her heart and stomach elevator plummet, she half expects to see them hit the floor.

She can’t stop her desperate gaze from sweeping the room, but there’s no tall, dark stranger with powerful shoulders and thick, silky hair.

Every other man is a pale imitation.

Gritting her teeth against the ridiculous disappointment, Rey turns back to her friends.

Finn, Rose’s boyfriend is joking with Paige about her best friend Poe. Everyone is giggling about his obsession with the latest home digital assistant. His insistence on calling it ‘beebee’, because, duh, it’s shaped like a ‘B’ has lead to some hilarious mistakes.

Like when he ordered flowers for his friend Tallie-short-for-Tallisa and ended up sending her a beehive starter kit.

“Tallie is allergic to bees.” Paige’s expression is deadpan before she breaks into giggles.

“It’s not beebee’s fault!” The object of their conversation walks up, dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

Poe might be unpredictable and downright annoying at times, but he can at least laugh at himself.

Unlike _the guy_. Rey doubts he’s ever smiled in his life, despite the generous mouth, his face is not one that appears prone to humour.

“Hey. Poe.” Finn’s strange awkwardness catches Rey’s attention. He has his arms out for a manly hug, but is half-hesitating as though he thinks this might not be welcome. Poe seems oblivious, going into the greeting wholeheartedly, slapping Finn on the back and calling him ‘buddy’.

Just for a moment, Rey wonders if they’ve had some kind of argument, but she dismisses it a moment later as the strange tension eases.

Another round of drinks are ordered and she is grateful for the distraction. She needs to forget the stranger and regain her usual calm.

But she glances around the bar far too often in search of a pair of dark eyes, the strangest feeling prickling up her spine.

* * *

“What do you think of the girl?”

Kylo experiences his shock as an inner flinch. Outwardly he’s aware he hasn’t moved a muscle.

No one _ever_ sneaks up on him. But such is his absorption in the cctv feed from the front office that Hux, who only knows how to verbally backstab, has managed to do so.

He snaps his attention to the slim redhead. “ _What girl?_ ”

His tone is a ferocious snarl.

Hux twitches nervously but also looks mildly surprised.

The _girl_ is currently in full view on the screen he’s just been staring at. “Does she know?”

“No.” Hux’s tone is instantly laced with gloating satisfaction. “She thinks we are what we appear to be on the surface, a company that finds permanent solutions to business problems. If she’s ever questioned, no one would be able to discover our true operations.”

The redhead’s pale, icy gaze flicks over Kylo. “What we really are.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Why are you so concerned, Ren, she’s just a secretary.” Snoke’s right-hand man’s contempt is palpable.

He ignores the question. “Particulars?”

“Rey Neminem, nineteen, recently completed her A-levels in London, whatever that means. Moved here two months ago. Friends with two sisters, Paige and Rose Tico, Finn, no last name and Poe Dameron. All check out.”

“Boyfriend?” Kylo has no idea why Hux’s hesitation over answering should make him want to slit the other man’s throat. His blade hand clenches.

“No. No boyfriend.” Hux flicks through the digital files busily, unaware how close he’s come to dying.

Kylo relaxes his fist. He is Master of the Knights of Ren, as the group of assassins he belongs to are known, he should have better control. He’s been slipping lately.

 _The girl_.

He’s not surprised she was in the bar the other night, it’s close to Hosnian Solution’s offices and Friday drinks after work appears to be a popular activity. Nothing that can be considered a problem.

His _response_ to her _is_ a problem.

Meeting her frank, hazel eyes had been like breaking the surface of a dark pool after going too deep.

Shocking, invigorating, instantly arousing, _a fucking revelation_.

He’d left, fast. Not looking back. He’d gone straight to his penthouse apartment, slamming the door. After a moment of hesitation heading to the bathroom.

Staring at himself in the mirror he’d seen eyes like black pits of terror, pulse jumping in his throat, scar itching. He’d ripped his clothing off, breath sawing in his chest.

Then he’d taken the throbbing length of his erection in his hand and did something he had only done a couple of times in his mid-teens.

 _Before Snoke, his apprenticeship, his uncle trying to kill him,_ _before it all went_ wrong.

After the first couple of strokes he realizes he needs . . .

 _Fuck_. The scented body oil makes his grip a smooth glide that almost buckles his knees. He closes his eyes, imagines it’s the girl’s hand, her mouth, stroking the length of his cock.

The way she catches her tongue between her teeth when she laughed at her friend’s jokes is so fucking sexy. He pictures her running it up the underside of his erection, laving the head, sucking the tip before taking as much of him as she can down her throat.

“Fuuck.” His hoarse shout echoes through the large bathroom, creamy jets of cum shoot across the black marble countertop. His knees really do give out and he crashes to the floor on hand and knees, still milking his cock, lips tight over bared teeth, over the _feel_ of it. The heat pulsing through him in a wave close to euphoria.

 _He is_ ruined.

By a pair of gold-flecked eyes, flushed cheeks and wispy hair in a messy bun, fine bones and boyish figure.

He recalls his only coherent thought in the aftermath of his loss of control— _Thank fuck he never has to see her again._

Yet here she is.


	2. At First Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First touch isn't helping Kylo's obsession. Also, he has a Very Active Imagination. Rey is sick of her boss and it's been just over a week into her new job. Hux is still not dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another smutty self-love scene, but I couldn't find the 'slow burn' tag. Yes, I am a sadist who loves to torture my characters. Poor Kylo Ben. (Not) *laughs evilly*

Rey strides out of the boardroom, gritting her teeth, head down. She stares at the notepad and digital tablet in her hand so that no one will notice how bloody _furious_ her boss makes her.

She’s starting to consider that being horrid might be his default setting.

His obvious lust for power combined with his sycophantic fawning over the company chairman, Mister Snoke, is revolting. And she hasn’t even _met_ the latter yet.

But it’s the twist of distaste in his expression whenever he issues her with what is tantamount to a set of orders that really puts her on a short fuse.

As though the very sight of her disgusts him. And he makes zero attempts at being remotely civil.

“Such a bas—Oh!”

Her exclamation is muffled by the fact her face is pressed into someone’s chest.

She rebounds, but before collapsing in a graceless heap on the floor, is caught by a pair of strong hands.

Blinking rapidly she focuses her gaze on a fine wool suit jacket, following the dark, elegant lines up and up and up.

Straight into an intense stare that is startlingly familiar.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a stupid question to ask a complete stranger, but in the five days since that night at the bar he’s been on her mind so much it feels natural.

His head jerks back a little, eyes narrowing, a bemused expression on his lean face. When he responds his voice is like clotted cream over rich, dark chocolate. “I work here.”

_Oh. Fuck._

“Right.” She drops her gaze to the safety of his chest and perceives quite a number of things simultaneously . . .

One of her hands is pressed to the broad expanse, the other clutching her digital tablet and notepad like a shield.

He is still gripping her upper arms, which means their lower bodies are very much in contact.

She’s just recovering from the tingling shock of this realization when his scent hits her. Spicy-musk with a hint of citrus.

For a dizzying moment she wonders how he manages to smell so _edible_.

_Oh. Fuck._

His grip tightens and she can feel his heartbeat under her fingertips. It’s pounding as though he’s been running, while his breath is coming in short pants.

Startled, she flicks a quick glance at his face. His soft, full lips are slightly parted.

_As though ready for her mouth, her tongue._

And his eyes . . . the pupils are blown, making his honey-brown stare appear almost black. Before he drops his gaze to _her_ lips.

He sways towards her.

One part of her brain is screaming at her . . . _move away. This is inappropriate, you don’t even know his name!_

The other part is absolutely on board with more contact, mainlining the sensations his touch is producing on the rest of her body like a crack addict. Lightning streaks are running along her veins from where his palms warm her bare arms. Butterflies are holding a rave in her stomach and the results of that party are starting to make themselves known further south . . .

Is—is she actually getting _turned on_ standing in the middle of her workplace? Simply from the most innocuous touch?

The heat from his body is a palpable thing against the rest of her. And the briefest flash of hot, bare skin under her hand shoots through her mind. She wants to kiss each beauty mark on his face. There are lots dotting his pale skin. She wonders if there are more scattered over his body.

The distant noise of a door closing is like a gunshot in the charged silence.

And she realizes they’ve been standing there staring at each other for more than a handful of moments.

If anyone walked down the narrow corridor right now . . .

She drops her gaze and jerks back. He lets her go and she’s scrambling to find something to fill the suddenly awkward silence.

“So, you work here. Ah, which area?”

“I’m head of the security division.”

“We have a _security division_?” She’s briefly startled, but a split second later acknowledges she isn’t particularly surprised by the existence of such a thing. Hosnian Solutions is big on ensuring confidentiality, even secrecy. And she’s not shocked at his place at the head of said division. He has a palpably dangerous aura—hadn’t she thought so in the bar?

Big dick energy. This guy has it in spades.

“Yes, we do.”

_Wut?_

It’s a struggle to recall her last statement . . .

 _Oh_.

She thrusts out her hand awkwardly, trying to inject some kind of professionalism into the encounter. “Well, um, I’m Rey, Mister Hux’s new secretary.”

His gaze flicks from her hand to her eyes and back before he engulfs it in his own.

“Yes, I know.”

* * *

Kylo watches the shock flit through her gaze, relishing it for a dark moment before he says, “Head of security, remember?”

Understanding dawns on her expressive face, with, is that the faint hint of disappointment?

In that brief moment of contact in the bar, has he made so much of an impression on her that she thinks he might have sought her out?

Uncertainty bites at what he thought was a long-healed wound.

He’s still holding her hand.

Her firm grip would feel incredible wrapped around his cock.

He releases the contact and steps back, away from the intoxicating scent of her, frangipani and jasmine, the touch of her skin, silky smooth.

He’s so hard he’s not certain his suit jacket is doing any sort of job of concealing his body’s response.

Suddenly he’s aware that he’s standing in a public hallway staring at this girl with a hardon which would be visible from the moon.

Anyone could walk past, including Hux, and suddenly he’s certain he wants Rey to keep this job.

Hux is enough of an asshole that if he senses Kylo is even remotely interested in Rey he’d fire her just for the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

Simply because Snoke considered _him_ and not Armitage Hux as his apprentice. Hux was, as Snoke once put it, ‘ _a rabid cur_. ’ A useful one nonetheless, whose weakness was to be exploited with scant regard to the fallout for those around him.

“You had better get back to work.”

His words take a moment to sink in, her eyes widening at the implication she’s been lingering irresponsibly.

The flash of anger that sets the gold in the hazel depths of her gaze alight makes his erection twitch.

He needs to get away from her before he does something really stupid—like find out what she tastes like.

“Nice to meet you, Rey.” He moves past her, she doesn’t say anything. When he glances back her head is down, revealing the tender nape of her neck. After a moment she strides away in the opposite direction.

He realizes he didn’t tell her his name.

Using his access card he enters the surveillance room which had been his ultimate destination.

It’s empty, cctv monitors humming quietly. He locks the door and stumbles over to the bank of monitors.

Sure enough, there’s Rey, settling behind her desk.

Just for a moment her skirt hikes a little high, revealing her slim thighs before she demurely adjusts it.

That’s enough.

He wrenches at the button and fly of his tailored slacks. A moment later his hot, rigid cock is in his hand, the head already weeping for the touch of Rey’s hand.

A gasp punches out of his chest.

He barely manages a couple of rough, uncoordinated strokes before his spine is tightening, his balls fucking _aching_. 

His desperate gaze lands on the wastebasket beside the desk and as he stares at the monitor he imagines her fingers sliding over his dick, stroking the head, her gold-flecked gaze darkening, pink lips parted, taking complete control over him.

_Totally unafraid of him as she works his big body._

The monitor flicks to a different camera. This one captures her front on and for a moment, as though she senses his regard, her gaze darts up, seeming to catch his through the screen.

With a breathless, snarled grunt he slips over the edge, spending into the wastebasket.

He comes so hard he thinks he might lose consciousness.

In the cooling aftermath, as he’s trying to figure what to do about the scent of sex in the room, the wastebasket . . .

_His fucking obsession._

He experiences a flash of burning anger.

This girl has been the cause of five nights of him waking up on the verge of coming, grinding a weeping, rock-hard erection against his black cotton sheets.

Jerking off has become not just a daily habit, it’s a necessity if he wants to get any sort of decent sleep. To be able to focus on his work.

He’s so close to his objective, he cannot lose sight of it for a mere slip of a girl. Not much longer and he’ll be able to achieve his goal and his uncle, Luke-fucking-Skywalker will no longer be an issue.

 

 


	3. At First Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo is in deep trouble. With a lot of people. Rey gets her fantasy realised - doesn't go the way she thought. Uncle Luke has been very, very naughty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is coming. This is slow burn and Kylo is kinda injured, so give him a break. As with After Crait, my canon-type-fanfic, character and story development are things I do. So it's not going to be all smut all the time. But 'cause I also love writing smut there will be smut. As I said in After Crait's notes, I write and edit romance professionally IRL so I will never abandon my fics. I haz a sad that there are some excellent pieces here on AO3 that have never been completed. I promise that WDKM and AC will have HEA's after I've done a bit o' character wrangling. ;)

The pain is a searing burn along his ribs. He’s bleeding heavily, can tell by the way his vision wavers in and out, and the sick-queasy feeling in his stomach.

He needs to get somewhere safe before he passes out.

The plan to get his interfering mother and her fucking brother out of the way had been a bad one from the start, too many variables, and chances for things to go wrong.

And things have gone _seriously_ wrong.

He should have waited.

His partner is dead and he has a knife wound that requires some form of medical attention very soon.

Staggering along, coat pulled tight, he struggles to orient himself.

The intersection ahead provides a street name and he wonders why it is familiar. This middle-class area isn’t his normal hunting ground.

Then his mind snaps to a name.

_Rey._

This is her street, her home just up from the corner.

The world goes dark for a moment and his injury throbs and only the sheer determination not to die in the gutter like a dog drives him forward. Ahead is a brownstone with a bright yellow door. A riot of flowers grow in planters either side.

He’s drawn to the entrance, stumbling up the steps he raises a shaking hand to slap the bright wood in as close an approximation to a knock as he can manage while his body tries to make him lie down.

He musters the strength to slap the door again and it opens suddenly, throwing him off-balance so he almost falls on top of the small, lithe figure who blocks the entrance.

“Oh!” Rey’s hazel stare sends a shot of adrenaline to his brain, enough so he can speak.

“Please, can I come in? I’m not feeling too well.” Relief is a cold wash through him as she steps back after a moment’s scrutiny, her gaze concerned as it flicks over him.

Sweat has soaked his hair despite the chill evening air and he’s pretty sure he’s even paler than usual. He tucks his long, black coat tighter.

Wordlessly she closes the door and leads the way into a cozy living room, glancing back at him repeatedly with mystified amazement writ large on her expressive face.

He isn’t up to explaining why he’s at her door or even how he knows her address. What he needs is to patch the wound, the cut has started to bleed again with the rush of seeing her.

“Can I use your bathroom?” His tongue is thick in his mouth and he’s not certain how lucid he appears. Hopefully she thinks he is simply ill or drunk.

“Ah, sure.” She leads the way to a small bathroom, hesitates. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes. Please.” Anything to get her out of the tiny space, though he’s normally a coffee drinker and certainly doesn’t feel like doing anything but sinking into blessed unconsciousness right now.

She nods and shuts the door. His coat is easy enough to remove, the silk lining aiding the heavy wool to slide to the floor. His shirt is another matter, the buttons a complexity his cloudy mind struggles with, until he gives up. He wrenches the clothing open, buttons ping against the fixtures and grey slate floor, getting lost in the colourful, woven mat. His light blue dress shirt is soaked bright crimson down one side.

He peers into the mirror, the darkness teasing the edges of his vision makes focusing difficult. The wound is shallow but lengthy, raking over his ribs on a downward slash. Blood coats his side and stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his dress pants.

Pawing through the pretty wooden cabinet over the basin, then the matching drawers underneath, he finally locates some iodine and swabs but no bandage. “Fuck!” He clenches his teeth on the urge to scream as the disinfectant bites into the wound. Hands shaking badly he does his best to clean around the cut so he can decide if it needs stitches. He’s making a mess of her spotless vanity. Crimson soaked swabs litter the surface and blood coats the basin.

The lights flicker, making nausea roil like an angry snake in his belly. Roaring fills his ears and he glances round, feeling like a bobble-head as he struggles to stay upright. Then the darkness takes him, a beast leaping from the shadows, dragging him down with velvet-soft paws.

* * *

Rey stares at the teapot and cups, the plate of biscuits and then her trembling fingers.

 _He_ is in her flat. In her bathroom. Big dick energy, head of security, Kylo Ren—because _of course_ she scrolled through the staff email list to find out his name—is in her home at eleven o’clock at night.

She’s pretty sure she hasn’t hallucinated his heavy shoulders filling her doorway, heat, spicy cologne and chill autumn evening hitting her nose. His deep voice asking to come in.

And she can tell on closer inspection he’s clearly not feeling the best. His pale skin is bleached bone with grey tinting the edges. Black hair soaked and sticking to his forehead though it’s a clear night.

No, she’s not imagining it this time, though she has plenty over the last week. Coming up with highly improbable scenarios that would somehow find him at her door.

Even as she let her imagination run wild, she knew Kylo seeking her out is about as likely as her biological parents turning up and announcing that dumping her into foster care as a five year old was a mistake they’d regretted for the last fifteen years.

So the object of her secret and rather dirty fantasies actually, against all logic, being in her home is pretty bloody overwhelming.

She takes in a few deep breaths.

 _Calm down_.

There’ll be some mundane reason for this, because life does not deposit sex gods on one’s doorstep without offering a healthy slap of reality in exchange.

He’s not here because he was overcome with the desire to get to know her, or even insatiable lust.

_Bloody hell, has she unknowingly created some security breach?_

Anxiety gnaws at her as she readjusts the cups on their matching saucers. Then it occurs to her, he’s been in her loo for rather a long time.

Another few minutes of dithering and she decides it’s _her_ home.

She can ask why a virtual stranger has commandeered her bathroom for almost ten minutes.

When her knocks don’t elicit a response her brain goes into overdrive—from him wanking off to passing out from whatever ails him to using her toilet to shoot up, passes through her mind.

Gritting her teeth she opens the door, though it only moves enough for her to slip through because Kylo’s body is blocking it.

He’d passed out, his massive frame filling most of the available floor space in the tiny bathroom. Each thought collides with the next, why is he here? How is she going to get him up and into bed? And what is she going to do about all the blood?

Because it is all over the sink, along with swabs, iodine and . . . buttons?

She gingerly straddles his broad back, crouching and checking for a pulse, but she can feel the movement of him breathing between her thighs, so he’s still alive.

A snort escapes her. Her fantasies of having Kylo between her legs— _because she’s human damn-it and he’s hot_ —haven’t included him in her bathroom, facedown and out cold.

She supposes she should be freaking out. But it’s not in her nature to panic unnecessarily.

Heaving him over onto his back gives her a fresh appreciation for core and upper body strength.

His shirt is torn open, revealing a knife wound on his left side that is still sluggishly bleeding.

_Fecking hell_ .

It takes a lot of un-sexy grunting and fifteen minutes to get her guest cleaned up, patched up and . . . well she’d leave the getting him up until he was conscious. There was no way she’d be able to lug him to her bed and besides . . .

Heat scorches her cheeks at the double entendre of her thoughts, and the idea of him waking up in her bed and jumping to the conclusion she put him there for . . . anything but medicinal purposes.

Not that she wouldn’t say no to him in her bed, but not—

“Oh, bollocks to this. Shut up, Rey.” The sound of her own voice is loud in the silence, but cuts off her runaway thoughts.

More grunting, heaving and swearing and she has a duvet between him and the floor, though it doesn’t quite wrap over his broad shoulders.

Also, he looks ridiculous in the tea rose print. Spare pillow and shoes off and she’s made him as comfortable as she can.

There is no way she’s calling the police. Growing up in London’s East End has taught her to keep her head down. He’s not dying and he’ll wake up soon enough.

Rey sips her tea and watches his chest rise and fall.

He snores when he’s asleep. It’s sort of cute.

Exhaustion suddenly overwhelms her. It’s getting on for past midnight. Luckily tomorrow is Saturday. If he’s still here in the morning—she has her doubts—she’ll find out why her door was the one he landed on.

Just for starters.

* * *

Summer flowers tease Ben’s nose, warmth and comfort surround him. He hasn’t felt this secure and at ease in . . . ever . . . _since he was a child_? Shoving the thought away, unwilling to let it intrude on this experience, he rolls over.The unexpected feeling of another body startles him for a moment, but he’s immediately certain it’s Rey, without even opening his eyes. Her unique fragrance teases him again.

He nuzzles into her, throwing a leg over hers to ensure she doesn’t go anywhere. The scent of frangipani and jasmine intensifies as he finds the hollow on the side of her throat with his mouth. He places kisses on the tender skin, a tentative swipe of his tongue to see if she tastes as delicious as she smells.

A groan rumbles out of his throat and his erection thrusts at the front of his boxer briefs.

_She does_ .

One hand guiding her face to his so he can sample her mouth.

_Fuck_ .

Her lips are soft and as sweet as the rest of her. Spun sugar and fresh strawberries.

 _I need_ more.

As he goes to tug her firmly against him, agonising pain rips through his side.

His eyelids snap open and reality and memory crashes in like a freight train.

He’s not alone in his own bed, having another erotic dream about Hosnian Solutions newest secretary.

Oh, she’s here all right, but as he stares into her rich autumnal eyes he’s aware that while she might, for a moment, have kissed him back, the rest of her is stiff as a board. Much like the cock he’s been rubbing against her thigh for the last five minutes like some kind of pervert.

He rolls away with a groan, forced out by a combination of pain from his wound and a deep-seated embarrassment he immediately suppresses. But he can feel the heat in his cheeks.

“How are you feeling? Would you like some tea?”

A mix of amused annoyance lances through him as he slides a hand down to his wound, then tosses back the bedding to inspect what he’s encountered.

“You used a sanitary napkin?”

Her gaze is steady. “It was the only thing I had which would absorb the blood and protect the wound.”

She holds him with her stare, a mix of cool speculation and a hint of compassion. “Kylo, who stabbed you?”’

A small thrill of shock catches his breath.

_She’s found out my name?_

The emotion subsides and something else, he won’t name or even acknowledge, fills the chill void inside him with warmth.

He finds words he never intended uttering spill from his mouth.

“My uncle. It was my uncle who stabbed me.”


End file.
